A Court of Pain and Change
by RCMartin
Summary: A month had passed since the end of the war and Nesta is silently suffering in her own thoughts and depression. When she makes a decision that shocks everyone, things begin to change. Nesta will no longer sit and do nothing while the people she loves sacrifice themselves for her.
1. Chapter 1

**_Post War- One Month Later_**

* * *

A soft wind blew through the streets of Velaris, twisting through the buildings and allies, sending the fallen leaves into small tornadoes around the city patrons feet as they wandered through the Quarters. It was late in the evening, most had gone back home for dinner and bed, or were mingling in the bars and dance clubs on the other end of the city. The sun was halfway below the horizon, the sky above the mountains had turned dark already, the inky blackness of the night spreading over the ocean where the reds, oranges and purples were slowly saying their farewell to the City of Starlight. A female wondered the streets, alone. She walked slowly, wrapped in a warm cloak for the Autumn season as the weather began to chill in preparation for winter. Her golden brown hair was twisted into a coronet on her head, small tendrils falling to frame her face that had been pulled out of the elegant up-do by the wind coming off the river. Her blue eyes were sharp, ever-watchful as she studies the patrons walking by her and making their final purchases within the Quarters.

She stopped midway across a bridge, turning to face the ocean and the mouth of the river, leaning onto the stone railing and watching as the sun finished his decent beneath the horizon. She was dressed in a beautiful, form-fitting dress of pale grey and ivory. It was low-cut enough to show a modest portion of her feminine assets, but conservative enough for her personal tastes. She pulled the cloak tighter around herself, one ear perked to the noises and footsteps around her, but remained focused on the horizon and the stars that slowly began to wink into existence above her.

A month had passed since the end of the war, and Nesta Archeron had found herself alone, bored and slightly depressed. There was something that was missing from her life, something that she couldn't quite put a finger on, leaving her without a purpose and confused. She was still the Emissary for the Night Court, and on occasion, accompanied her sister and her High Lord to the Human Realms, telling her and her sisters stories and the stories of the war. Aside from that, however, Nesta had pulled back from the rest of the inner Court, withdrawn and sullen, lost in her own head far too often.

Her sisters had tried to speak to her on multiple occasions, had even tried to bring her out into the city more than once. Nesta had gone, if only to make Elain happy and get Feyre off her back for a while, but she always immediately returned to her rooms and locked the door behind her. Cassian had tried to talk to her on one occasion, an occasion that made her wince every time she thought about it. It had not gone well, to say the least, and was something she wish she were able to take back.

She had been frustrated, depressed and anxious. She had been afraid and was worrying about everything far too much. She would never admit that, and she _never_ let it show on her face exactly what emotions she was feeling, but Cassian had come to her door. He had knocked quietly, had asked her if everything was okay. Her mind flashed to the battlefield, where she leaned over him, ready to die wrapped in his arms, where he was bleeding out, where Nesta realized exactly how much she cared for the male beside her...

She had panicked. She had said things she didn't mean. She had heard the silence on the other end of the door. She had heard the front door of the townhouse slam and the boom of massive wings in the air.

And Nesta had cried herself to sleep that night.

She shook her head, feeling anxiety roiling in her stomach once again at the memory, clenching her fists around the fabric of the cloak she wore and forced herself to focus on the last shred of light that kissed the horizon. She was missing something, something crucial in her life. She had spent the entire last month thinking about it, and she finally realized what it was. With a sigh, Nesta brushed a strand of hair from her face and stared down at the waters of the river beneath her, where fish danced beneath the surface. She watched the light of the city reflect off the waters, and wondered what it would feel like if she dived right in.

She wondered what it would feel like to let go, wondered what it would be like to stop caring for a while.

She sighed through her nose and pushed off the railing, turning away from the river and the ocean and the stars and headed back in the direction of the townhouse. She had been wondering the city for hours now, walking down every street and past every store. She knew that her sisters knew where she was, she had no doubt that the Shadowsinger was somewhere in the sky, or the roofs or the shadows watching her every move. She knew Feyre better than her sister thought she did, and she knew the High Lord better too. She didn't bother to look for the Shadowsinger, she knew she would never find him. Instead, she walked slowly, carefully through the streets and back towards the house that had become her new home.

She stopped when she passed a shop of beautiful dresses- dresses and gowns of every color and fabric and make. Her eyes landed on a dress of the deepest blue, the color of her eyes, trimmed with silver. It was beautiful, and normally, Nesta would _have_ to have it. Her eyes focused instead on the reflection in the glass, on the girl who had lost weight in recent weeks, her cheeks sunken slightly, her blue eyes distant and colder than usual. She pulled away from the shop, from the dresses that normally, she would have spent any amount of money on to have.

Things had changed. Nesta wanted different things now, things she never thought she would ever want to have.

The lights were on in the townhouse when she walked through the gate into the small front yard and up the stone steps into the antechamber and shucked off her cloak. The door was open, expecting her, and Nesta padded lightly into the foyer. To her left, the fire burned in the hearth in front of the plush couches where Elain was curled up against a pillow with a book in her lap. She looked up as Nesta stopped in the doorway, and gave her older sister a kind smile. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the fire, a blanket thrown over her lap.

"How was your walk?" She asked, closing her book. Nesta blinked and clasped her hands in front of her, turning to look at the fire.

"Fine," she stated simply. "Have you seen Feyre?"

"She and Rhys are at the House of Wind with the others. They'll be back later tonight." Nesta frowned, but nodded and stepped away from the living area.

"Ill be in my room. Let me know when she gets back." She turned away before her sister could say anymore and hurried up the stairs and down the hall, shutting the door behind her and throwing the bolt home.

Her room was not like she room she had back at their estate in the human lands. It was smaller, more modest and comfortable. Nesta never thought she would ever enjoy having a small living space after suffering in that ramshackle hut for eight years. Instead, she had come to appreciate the modest livings that Rhysand enjoyed and shared with her and her sister. The furnishings were exquisite and expensive, no doubt, and he helped to purchase anything that they requested (Nesta had tested this with miscellaneous items she had no use for upon her arrival in this city months ago). In the short time that Nesta had known her sisters husband and his inner court, she had grown to care for the male in a way she never expected to for someone who was her sisters partner, let alone a Fae. She actually felt a sibling-like bond with the male, although she probably would never admit it.

With a heavy sigh, Nesta began to slip out of the dress she wore. She had come to dress herself recently, forgoing the corsets and impractical bustles and skirts for simpler dresses that were more breathable and easier to move. She slipped down to her under clothes and then stepped out of those as well, moving into her bathing chamber where the shadows had already set up a bath for her. It had taken time to get used to the shadow girls that used to help dress her, and now, she had a silent appreciation for knowing when she needed a bath, or food brought to her room.

The water was warm as she slipped beneath the surface, pulling the pins from her hair and letting it fall down around her in a cascade of light waves that shimmered with colors of gold, caramel and fawn brown. She relaxed into the heat of the water, doing her best to clear her mind from the whirlwind of thoughts and worries and anxiousness that had plagued her for far longer than this past month. Her cold, angry demeanor had become the mask- the walls- that she had learned to hide behind.

As the eldest child in a family that had lost everything, Nesta had forced herself to become strong in the only way she knew how at fourteen years old. She had become cold, distant and unbreakable in the eyes of her sisters, and that was all she needed. They did not need to know exactly how much she hated herself every single time her baby sister had walked out of the house in search for food with the possibility she would never come home, and she did nothing about it. They did not need to know how much she blamed herself for not doing what she could to make the merchants and ruffians leave when they beat their father to a bloody pulp. They didn't know how much she worried for them, for herself; how much she doubted every action, every decision she made; how many time she went over every single memory she had and wondered if she had only done something different, if things had been better.

She had let her little sister be taken into the lands of Fae, and while she had gone after her, she didn't do _everything_ that she possible could have done to get her back. She had stood there as their father was murdered on the battle fields, having never told him that she loved him. She had done nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

 _Nothing_.

And no one knew how much it ate away at her every single day.

Nesta scrubbed her hair and body with soap and oils, then dipped beneath the surface, her hair flowing around her like the sea grass in a reef. She opened her eyes, staring up at the distorted shadows on the ceiling of her bathing chamber made by the candles dancing around the room. Her chest began to ache minutes later when she still hadn't come up for air. Her lips trembled slightly with the urge to open and suck in deep breaths, and Nesta wondered how much it would hurt if she did, sucking down water until her lungs had no room for air. She broke the surface, pushing herself out of the tub as she took in deep breaths, reaching blindly for a towel to wrap around her thin, pale body.

Her fingers shook, tightening the towel around herself as she padded wetly back into her room and sat down on the edge of her bed. Her hair clung to her back and shoulders, her lips quivered. She looked down at her hands, where her fingers began to turn black, like smoke beneath her skin, crawling up her hands and arms. Her skin began to tingle, lightly, her veins had turned black and continued up to her elbows. The skin beneath her eyes began to itch, and she knew the veins of her face were doing the same. She hissed, clenching her fingers and shut her eyes, picturing her sister in her garden, of Feyre and Rhys dancing in the kitchen by the light of the moon coming through the window, of the colors of the sunset on the horizon as the sun went down. She pictured her Father on the bow of the _Nesta_ , flanked by the _Elain_ and the _Feyre_. She pictured anything good and happy until the tingling began to subside.

 _Elain. Feyre. Velaris. The Court. Father. **Cassian**._

She opened her eyes, tears pouring down her face and looked down to find pale, familiar skin of her hands. She hadn't told anyone. It started month ago, when she was looking for the cauldron. Amren had an inkling that something had happened to her, that whatever powers she had been given had awoken at some point in time, but she didn't know. No one knew. No one knew that her powers were manifesting, and even she wasn't quite sure what they were.

She had an idea. She was sure everyone had an idea.

She wasn't about to test the theory.

Her body shook with silent sobs as she leaned back against the pillows in nothing but the towel wrapped around herself and curled herself into a ball. She needed to talk to her sister. Things needed to change. She couldn't do this anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

Depression was a bitch.

Nesta woke the next morning before dawn had even broke, and had remained in bed, naked beneath the covers, staring at the ceiling of her room well into the hours of morning. Her hair was a tangled mess splayed on the pillow beneath her head, her hands resting on her stomach. She blinked every few minutes to prevent her eyes from drying, the skin around them red and puffy from hours of crying the night before. She was tired, exhausted, feeling completely empty with no desire to get up and leave her room. All she wanted to do was go back to sleep, to sleep and sleep and _sleep_ until there was a reason for her to get out of bed again. Instead, her body remained awake, staring at the ceiling while inside her head, her thoughts swirled like a hurricane, ripping apart her sanity and self-confidence like they were nothing more than silk in the wind.

Nesta only moved when the ache in her stomach became too much to handle. She shifted and threw the blankets off of herself, forcing her body to lift out of the bed and pad tiredly across the hard wood floors to the armoire. She opened the doors, staring into the wardrobe that was overflowing with gowns of grey and blue and ivory. Nothing caught her eye, so instead, she reached in blindly and yanked a dress from the hanger, slamming the doors of her wardrobe shut behind her. She laced herself loosely into the dress, standing before her vanity and hastily twisted her hair into a plait, pinning it in the back of her head and left the room without much care of her appearance whatsoever.

She hallway was filled with the enticing aroma of bacon and toast and eggs, making the ache in her stomach rumble once again. Hurrying down the stairs, Nesta paused in the doorway of the kitchen, taking in the scenery before her. Elain sat at the kitchen table in a dress of rich, autumn red, her hair twisted elegantly behind her ears, the rest falling down her back in a cascade of loose waves. She sipped a cup of tea, a bowl of seasonal fruits sitting before her that she lightly picked at. Sitting across form her in her usual attire of leggings and a tunic, cinched at the waist with a thick leather belt, was Feyre, her legs kicked up onto an empty chair beside her. Her hair was plaited over her shoulder, a book open in her lap as she munched away on a slice of bacon. Rhysand stood at the stove, cooking away with an apron tied loosely around his waist. He glanced over his shoulder and gave her a kind smile.

"Would you like breakfast, Nesta?" The two women at the kitchen table looked up to the doorway, where their eldest sister stood slightly awkwardly, gripping the sides of her navy blue skirts. Upon arriving in doorway of the kitchen, Nesta had unconsciously slammed her walls into place, leaving her face void of emotions and stoically cold. She took a deep breath and stepped into the kitchen, pulling out the chair that had previously had Feyre's feet propped upon it, taking a seat with a small nod in Rhysand's direction. He smiled slightly and returned to cooking, pulling another plate from the cabinet to his left.

"Good morning, Nesta," Elain smiled, replacing her cup on the saucer before her, "would you like some tea?" Glancing at her sister, Nesta gave a small smile.

"Yes, thank you." Feyre raised a brow, but remained silent, studying her eldest sister as her husband placed a plate of food before her. Nesta studied the plate for a moment, at the omelette made with spinach, onions and cheese, the fruit in a bowl beside it and the slices of bacon barely hanging off the plate. Her stomach rumbled and she delicately picked up her knife and fork, as she had been taught to do _ages_ ago and began to eat her breakfast as ladylike as physically possible. Her sisters watched her, eating slowly and carefully, small bites to prevent herself from being sick, as she still remained slightly nauseous with anxiety. Once content that Nesta was indeed eating _something_ , Feyre finally relaxed and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Elain told me you wished to speak with me?" She asked, a brow raised, wondering what her sister was so concerned about. Nesta glanced to her right, biting a piece of melon off her fork delicately and chewed slowly. She dabbed her lips with a napkin and set down her fork.

Originally, Nesta had been hoping that she would speak with her youngest sister privately, however, knowing that whatever she said would simply flutter into the ears of her other sister and the High Lord moments after the conversation (if not, _during_ the conversation, thanks to the bond between her sister and Rhys), Nesta simply decided to skip the privacy.

She turned to her sister, her mask firmly in place and looked her over. How many times had she noticed _just_ how comfortable her sister looked in her leggings and tunics and sweaters? How many times had she wondered what it would be like to ditch the dresses and skirts and bustles? How many times had she noticed just how healthy and strong her sister looked, how easily she could wield a knife, a sword and a bow. Feyre had gone to war. Feyre had faught in battles. Feyre had taken _lives_ for her people. Feyre was strong. Feyre could, would and had protected those she loved.

With a sigh through her nose, Nesta glanced once down at her fingers that were fiddling with the fabric of her skirts before turning back to her sister, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her slightly pointed ears and said the words that she had been wishing to say for weeks now. "I want to learn to fight."

She should have accepted the lessons given by Cassian before the war, but Nesta had been too proud, too stubborn, to _afraid_. She had been afraid to be that close to him, afraid to be touching him, afraid to accidentally _hurt_ him. She had been afraid, just as she always had been when she had refused to act. Now, at least it was better late than never. The war was over, the major threats were gone as far as anyone was aware, but Nesta still remained in the backseat, while her baby sister had the ability and responsibility to make sure that she and Elain were protected.

Nesta wouldnt be afraid anymore.

"I want to learn to fight." The room stilled, and Feyre glanced at Elain across the table and then to where Rhys was currently leaning against the kitchen counter, a bowl in hand, drying it with a dishtowel. He was watching the three sisters, silently and with a single brow raised. Feyre turned back, sat up and leaned her forearms on the table before her.

"Why?" She asked, her voice low, soft, doing her best not to sound accusatory and cause Nesta to retract her statement and flee, as she had often done in the past. Nesta's fingers began to shake, she gripped her skirts tightly. Over her shoulder, Elain was staring at her with a deep frown. "Why do you want to learn to fight?" Nesta's face was void of emotion, but her body was rigid and stiff with fear and anxiety. She let out a shaky breath.

"Because I dont want to sit by and do nothing, anymore." She whispered, never taking her eyes away from Feyre's. The same eyes that they shared.

The room went silent once more, the two sisters staring at each other without blinking. The front door of the townhouse opened, and two heavy sets of footsteps sounded through the foyer and then stopped in the kitchen doorway. Nesta knew who was standing to her right, she could feel their eyes on her- _his_ eyes on her. Heat crawled up her back, up her neck and to her ears and cheeks. She never broke her gaze with her sister. She felt a hole rip in her skirts, but she didnt look down. She picked at the fabric, spreading the hole wider. She didnt want to continue this conversation, Feyre could see that. She didnt want _him_ to know exactly what was going on.

"Okay." She simply stated, leaning back in her chair. "We'll continue this later." Nesta nodded once.

She stood up, turning to leave the kitchen but found herself standing less than a foot away from a massive male, his dark wings tucked in tightly behind him, dressed in Illyrian leathers. Beside him, Azriel slipped around him, walking across the room to speak quietly in the High Lord's ear. Nesta didnt turn to look at him, her blue eyes locked on the hazel ones that stared down at her. His face was as void of emotion as her own, his large arms crossed over his chest, staring down his nose at her in the same way that Nesta had done to him so many times before.

She clenched her jaw against the emotions that boiled beneath her skin, feeling her fingers shake as she grabbed onto her skirts at her sides once more. Everyone was watching the exchange, knowing what had happened between them three weeks prior, wondering exactly how this interaction would go. Cassian stared at her, searching her face. She wondered what he was feeling inside, if it was anything like what she was feeling.

She made a split second decision. No one could see her face but him. There were so many things she wanted to say to him that she simply couldnt vocalize.

So she let him see it on her face.

Her mask dropped.

Her walls fell.

Nesta let him see everything that she had been feeling for the last decade, every ounce of fear, doubt and insecurity. She let him see everything she felt after being changed, everything she felt for her sisters, for her father, her family. And then she let him see the words, the feelings she had been hiding from him from the first moment she saw him.

It hit Cassian like a brick wall, sending him staggering backwards a step, just enough that Nesta took the chance to step around him and flee up the stairs in a flurry of Navy skirts and golden brown hair. He twisted around, following her every move until she had disappeared around the corner and down the hall, the sound of her bedroom door slamming behind her echoing through the townhouse.

She pressed herself against the bedroom door, breathing heavily, her fingers shaking as she scrambled to throw the bolt behind her, her skin tingling, her cheeks itching as the inky smoke began to curl through her veins, staining her hands and wrists black as pitch. _Breathe,_ she told herself, _breathe_. If nothing else, that was a step in the right direction.

She hoped.

* * *

A knock came on her bedroom door a few hours later. Nesta had curled herself up on the window sill, overlooking the western part of the city. The hole she had poked in her skirts had gotten larger, showing a decent portion of her pale thigh, the fabric fraying between her fingers. She glanced up, her ears twitching slightly, her nostrils flaring as the familiar scent of her youngest sister flowed beneath the doorway. "Nesta? Its me." She sat up, padding across the hardwood floors and unlocked her bedroom door, opening it wide enough for Feyre to slip through and locked it again behind her.

She had heard the Illyrians leave moments before after a long conversation about something Nesta couldnt care less about with their High Lord. Feyre had come up to her room soon after. She now perched herself on the edge of Nesta's bed, curling her legs beneath her and watching as Nesta sat herself on the window ledge once again, the window itself open to the cool autumn breeze. She reached up, pulling the pins from her hair and letting it cascade around her shoulders and waist in elegant waves. Feyre raised a brow, but smiled. It had been years since she had seen Nesta with her hair down. She waited patiently, quietly, as Nesta stared out over the city, reaching up and pulling a small piece of hair from the rest, twirling it between her fingers.

"I don't want to do nothing, anymore." She finally said, not pulling her gaze from the cityscape. "I don't want to wait and see if the people I care about come home. I don't want to sit idly as someone does their best to protect me." She sighed, "I want to protect myself. I want to be the one protecting others for once."

"Where did this come from?" Feyre asked, tilting her head slightly. "You were completely against learning to fight before." Nesta shook her head, looking down at the hole in her dress.

"No, I wasn't." She whispered. "I wanted to, but I was scared." Feyre frowned.

"Scared of what?" Nesta blew off the question with a wave of her hand. Her sister sighed but didnt push it. "Cassian and I train every other-"

"No," Nesta interupted with a shake of her head, turning to look at her sister, "not with him."

"Why not?" She didnt answer, instead she simply stated:

"I want to train at the war camps. With the Illyrians. Like Rhysand did."

Silence. The two sisters stared at each other, Feyre with raised brows. She blinked- once, twice, and finally shook her head as if pulling herself out of a daydream.

"Nesta, I really dont think you understand-"

"I understand fine, Feyre." She barked with finality. Feyre sighed and brushed a hand through her hair.

"They dont even really train females,"

"I think they'll train me."

"They called you a witch."

"Ill deal with it." The two girls stared each other down. After a few moments, Feyre finally blew out a breath and stood up from the bed.

"Ill talk to Rhys." And she left.


	3. Chapter 3

Nesta had nightmares of being submerged in the cauldron. It had only been in recent weeks that she had been able to take a proper bath and submerge herself completely in water. She had forced that upon herself, tired of having to use buckets of water to wash herself and take a ridiculous amount of time and effort in doing so. She had been able to take baths once more, but the nightmares remained. Every night, Nesta woke, sweating and crying with the feeling of water in her lungs. She woke up to the pain of her entire being ripped apart and recreated again. She woke up with black veins beneath her eyes and inky black smoke beneath the skin of her hands, the fangs in her mouth feeling longer and sharper and an emptiness inside her that scared her more than anything. Most nights, she was afraid to go to sleep, but exhaustion always won over her stubborn will and Nesta found herself routinely subjected to her worst memories and fears.

She had opened her window that night, slipped out onto the roof that overlooked the street and stared out at the stars that blinked in the darkness above her. She wore nothing but a nightgown, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, her gaze sweeping over the wondrous lights that illuminated the City of Starlight. She had spent the entire day in her room, again, locked away, laying on her bed trying to go to sleep even when her body didn't want to. She had spent the whole day wondering what Feyre would say to her husband, if they would let her go to the war camps, if they realized that this would possibly be the only way to pull her out of... whatever funk she was in.

A cool wind blew off the Sidra, twisting through her loose curls and biting at the skin of her arms and face. She shivered lightly, but refused to go inside for warmer clothes. It felt good on her skin, the wind. It made her feel real, alive, _there_. She breathed deeply and turned her gaze towards the ocean, to where the Quarters were illuminated in yellows and reds and greens and blues. There was no doubt that the Morrigan and the Illyrians were out tonight, she could hear the drunken cries and laughter of the midnight patrons like the clear ring of bells.

She didn't flinch when he appeared beside her, forearms rested on his knees, a flask in his hand. He offered it to her silently, and she took it without much hesitation. The liquid burned down her throat, but she took a healthy swig and handed it back to her High Lord. They sat in silence for a few solid moments, staring out over the city that had quickly become her home, the autumn wind coming off the Sidra running invisible fingers through their hair. He didn't ask her questions, he didn't demand answers. Instead, he sipped off the flask and offered it to her every now and then, waiting for her to speak if she needed to, remaining silent if she didn't.

It was how Nesta and Rhysand had formed a loose sibling-like bond with one another. They hadnt told anyone about it, she was pretty sure not even Feyre had realized that her sister and her husband were on friendly terms with one another. However, when Nesta and Elain had arrived in the Night Court, newly turned into High Fae, traumatized and terrified, the "monsterous" High Lord had simply placed them on a couch in the House of Wind, given them blankets, set them in front of a fire...

And left them.

He let them settle in, let them come to terms with what had just happened to them. He had let them grieve on their own, given them written directions of where their rooms were as to avoid bothering them further. He had let the shadows come to them gently and explain the dealings of the Night Court. He had politely invited them to dinner every night, and never complained when they declined.

When Nesta had finally arrived at dinner one night, to a table that had sat the High Lord, the blonde haired Morrigan, the silver eyed blood-drinker and the shadow singer, she had sat herself down and demanded where her sister was. It was in that moment that Nesta had seen the flash of pain, desperation and _fear_ on his face that she had realized what he felt for her sister was real. He loved her. And he would do anything to have her back.

At the same time, he would do anything for her and Elain as well, because they were the only family that the love of his life had left.

And he did. He got anything that Nesta and Elain asked for and had it delivered to their rooms. He made sure they had anything they needed and more in order to transition as cleanly and painlessly into this new life as possible.

He never once asked how they were doing. He never asked if they wanted to talk, if they needed a shoulder to cry on. He answered any questions she had about the Court, about the land, about the life, about her sister. He reassured her that Feyre was checking in, that everything was okay. He kept her in as much of the loop as she wished to be in.

And that had earned her respect and her admiration. And soon after, it had earned her siblingly love.

They sat out on the roof for hours, the flask refilling itself when it ran low, passing it between one another as they watched the stars twinkle above them. When she had shivered from the breeze, Rhysand had created a barrier around them, keeping it comfortable enough she didnt freeze down to her bones. It was well into the night when Nesta could feel her eyes begin to grow heavy. She found herself leaning against his shoulder and sighed, taking a sip of the flask.

"I dont want to go to sleep," she whispered. Rhys glanced down at where her head lay on his shoulder, a small frown on his face. She was utterly exhausted, that must was clear. For weeks, she had dark circles under her eyes. She had been losing weight. And she was holding everything in. He reached over, gently pulling the silver flask from her limp fingers and capped it. "I dont want to go to sleep."

"I know," He whispered, shifting so he could slip his arm beneath her knees and around her back, picking her up as carefully as possible and turning to her bedroom window. He stepped into the room, walking across to the large bed and gently placed her beneath the blankets that had been thrown off when she had gotten up earlier. Her eyes had fluttered closed, but her brow was wrinkled with an emotion he couldnt quiet place.

This Nesta was so different than the one everyone was used to seeing. While they had spent hours out on the roof, she hadnt said a single word about what had been bothering her all these weeks- months, really. That was fine with him, he didnt expect her to open up to him. But she had shown a small bit of vulnerability just then, had let him see past a single layer of her defenses. Rhysand wasnt sure how to take it.

A small hand brushed his arm and he glanced over his shoulder to find his gorgeous wife looking down at her sister full of concern. She was biting her lip, her brow furrowed. He knew what she was thinking without even touching the bond they shared. Standing up, he wrapped an arm around her and gently guided her away, shutting the door to Nesta's bedroom as quietly as possible. The couple walked back down the hallway to their own room, where Feyre climbed onto their large bed and crossed her legs.

"She wants to go to the war camps, Rhys." He nodded his head. She had brought it up to him earlier that day when she had gone to talk to Nesta herself. He brushed a hand through his hair and leaned back against the door, crossing his arms over his broad chest. He had to admit that, especially during the weeks that Feyre had been away in the Spring Court, he had grown to have a distant appreciation and respect for the eldest Archeron sister. He knew just how strong willed, stubborn and mean the female could be, but seeing her degenerating the way she had been recently was starting to eat away at him as much as it was Feyre. "I dont know what to do."

"We let her go." He stated simply. Feyre frowned and tilted her head slightly.

"Let her go?" He nodded, pushing off the door and walking across the empty space to the bed, dropping onto the mattress beside her.

"Yes. I think it is exactly what Nesta needs." Feyre stared down at her husband in confusion. How could sending Nesta to the war camps be what was best for her? Reading her expression, Rhys continued. "She said that she is sick of sitting around and doing nothing. She wants to be able to protect herself and protect those she cares about."

"Why wont she just train with Cassian?" He shook his head.

"I dont know what is going on between them, but either way, Cassian wouldnt push her the way the War Lords would."

"What about Azriel?" He shook his head again. Feyre sighed and dropped her head, letting her hair fall like a curtain on either side of her face. Rhys sighed and sat up, brushing her hair back behind a slightly pointed ear and tilted her chin up with a finger. He smiled down at her gently, leaning in and giving her a soft kiss before pulling back.

"Believe me, if there is anyone that can survive the war camps, it is Nesta." Feyre gave a half smile and shook her head.

"Nesta isnt the one I am worried about."

* * *

"Good morning, Nesta." Nesta groaned and rolled over, pulling her pillow over her pounding head. There was someone in her room, someone who was making far too much noise and- _did they just rip off her blankets?_ She tilted her head beneath her arm enough to reveal her mouth and hissed with bared fangs, curling her legs up to her chest to conserve body heat. Sister, it was her sister.

Of course it was, Nesta wasnt sure anyone else would dare to come into her room at - bloody hell what time was it - and rip off her blankets. Deciding she didnt care, she curled her toes and shifted the pillow over her ears again to muffle as much sound as she possibly could while Feyre flounced about her room slamming her armoire doors, splashing water and sounding like a herd of elephants.

Then, Nesta remembered that she and Rhysand had been out on the roof for a solid number of hours drinking from the self-filling flask, which was why her skull currently felt like someone was repeatedly smashing into her brain with an iron hammer. She groaned and flipped onto her stomach, trying to alleviate the pressure in her head, somehow, to no avail. _This is why I never drink_.

"Get up, Nesta." Feyre ordered, yanking on a bare foot. Nesta kicked blindly, hoping she would make contact with her sisters nose, but only met air.

"Get out of my room, Feyre." She snapped from beneath the pillow, her words slightly muffled. She wouldnt have been surprised if Feyre had rolled her eyes (which is exactly what she did).

"Get up. We have things to do." Feyre snapped right back, walking into her sisters bathing chambers. "Your bath is going to get cold."

"What things?" She groaned, angrily, forcing herself to sit up, only to hiss at the light coming from her open window and fall back onto the bed with the pillow over her face. Feyre sighed and walked back out of the bathroom, throwing a towel onto her sisters body.

"Im not about to let you walk into the camps completely blind. We're going out in the woods. Im teaching you some basics." Nesta tilted the pillow just enough to reveal one dark blue eye and blinked at her sister who stood in her bedroom doorway. "Now get up. I dont have all day." With that, Feyre slammed the door shut, leaving her sister to her own devices.

It took Nesta another five minutes to work herself out of bed, but she finally managed to stumble across her bedroom and into her bathing chamber and sit herself in her tub long enough to wash her hair and body and then get back out. She wrapped a towel around herself, rubbing her hair dry with another and feeling better than she had been ten minutes earlier. She walked back into her bedroom, about to turn to her armoire and pull out another useless dress, when she noticed a set of clothes sitting on the end of her bed that her sister must have placed there before leaving. With a frown, she picked it up. Her frown deepened.

Her sister had supplied her with Illyrian leathers. She wasnt sure if they were Feyre's or her own, either way it took another twenty minutes to figure out how to put them on. Nesta had never worn pants in her entire life, and having something wrapped around her legs felt...different. Not exactly wrong, but different. Comforting in a way, unsettling in another. The leathers were sturdy and warm, but flexible and light enough that she was able to move in a way she had never been able to before. She turned to her vanity, staring at herself in the mirror, her mouth parted in a small 'o'.

"Holy...cauldron." She whispered.

While Nesta had lost weight in the previous weeks, the leathers did nothing if not accentuate the feminine...assets. She had never realize that she actually was rather...shapely. She was covered from the neck down, however, her breasts were clearly visible in shape and size, the leathers stretching over them tautly. She had a narrow waist and hips that flared. She was _definitely_ a woman.

Sitting on her bed, she slipped her feet into the knee high boots that were also left with the leathers and laced them up. They were sturdy, heavy and she had to pace around her room for a few minutes to get used to walking in them. Feyre knocked on her door five minutes later when Nesta had finally finished pulling her long hair into a high ponytail on her head, loose curls falling to frame her face. It was the best she was able to do, as a twisted coronet didnt exactly _go_ with what she was wearing at the moment.

Feyre was dressed in her own leathers, a bow and quiver across her back, blades on her thighs. Her hair was plaited over her shoulder and she smirked as she took in her older sister. She handed Nesta a dagger and a sword as she stepped into the hall, the elder sister staring at the weapons and carefully taking them. "Here," Feyre muttered, showing her sister how to strap them to her body. "Does that feel okay?" Nesta frowned at the sword on her hip, and reading the reaction, Feyre quickly unbuckled the sword, stepped around her sister and strapped it down her spine in the same manner as the Illyrians, with their wings. "Better, now come on. It's going to be a long day." Nesta followed her sister silently, trampling down the front staircase to the foyer, only to freeze when she peaked through the doorway to the sitting area.

The three well-known Illyrians were sitting by the fire, leaning closely over the coffee table speaking about something neither Nesta nor Feyre really cared about at the moment. They had halted their conversation upon hearing the females coming down the stairs and turned their attention to where Feyre and Nesta currently stood in the foyer dressed like they were ready for battle. Rhys had looked his wife over appreciatively with a soft smirk, leaning back into his chair and crossing an ankle over his knee. He always did enjoy seeing his mate in fighting wear.

Azriel glanced at the two females, nodded once and turned his attention back to a piece of paper sitting on the table.

Cassian, however, was blatantly staring open mouthed at Nesta, starting at her head and working his way down to her booted feet and then back up again. Feyre chuckled beside her, resting a hand on her hip and glancing between the two Fae, waiting patiently. Nesta stared right back, watching the way his hazel eyes wandered over her body, taking in her slim legs, her wide hips, her hour-glass waist and womanly chest. His eyes only seemed to grow with each passing second. After a few more moments, feeling thoroughly naked, Nesta sighed and turned to her sister, waving a hand in the direction of the doorway.

"Lets go."

" _GO WHERE?"_ Nesta blinked and turned her attention back to the overgrown bat who now stood in the center of the living area, wings spread wide and fists clenched at his side. Feyre smirked and leaned towards her sister.

"This is what we call possessive male territorialness. Its worst with Illyrians, unfortunately." Nesta scoffed and rolled her eyes, turning an icy glare on the Illyrian in question.

"None of your concern." She stated simply. She watched the anger begin to roil in his eyes and felt a familiar satisfaction begin to bubble inside of her. She wasnt sure why, but getting beneath his skin was one of her favorite activities. Cassian turned his angry gaze onto Feyre, who raised a brow in his direction.

"Where are you going?" He repeated through clenched teeth. Feyre smirked.

"If Nesta wanted you to know where we were going, she would have told you." Cassian flexed his fingers and curled them again, his wings fluttered slightly. Feyre turned towards her husband with a wide smile. "We'll be back by nightfall."

"Be careful." He told her with a smile and a nod. Nesta glanced once more at the shaking Illyrian standing in the living area, tilted her lips slightly into a smirk, and left the townhouse with her sister.


End file.
